


his everything

by fanfictionandcats



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, emotionally constipated fitz, ~ feelings ~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictionandcats/pseuds/fanfictionandcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(oneshot set during 1x06 from fitz's perspective)</p>
<p>"While she sat on the other side of that glass door, eyes sunken and spirit lost, he realized that she was his everything.</p>
<p>And they'd argued and all he wanted to do was touch her, make her understand how much she actually meant to him because he’d never told her, never let her know. </p>
<p>And then his everything dropped out of the sky."</p>
            </blockquote>





	his everything

He wants to cry, but he won’t.

 

It’s stupid, you know? He’s fine. More importantly,  _she’s_ fine.

 

It was scary there, for a minute, but now it’s over.

 

His hands won’t stop shaking. And his heart’s still beating so fast he expects it to jump out of his throat.

 

Before today, he could convince himself that there were others - Skye, she was bold, she was sexy. Snarky, sarcastic, dark, mysterious. She could hold a gun.

 

Jemma held a gun like it was a thousand pounds and could explode at any second. She cringed away from it every time she had to pull the trigger (she barely scraped by that basic requirement during the field test).

 

She got excited about Ben and Jerry’s coming out with a new flavor of ice cream.

During their years at school together, they’d always stay up late, studying. For every right answer, she’d throw a piece of popcorn at him and he’d catch it in his mouth, and she’d giggle that sleep-deprived, quiet laugh.

 

He should have stood his ground. She was the reason they were in this mess, after all. Convincing him to go into the field with her, to see the world, to  _experience things_  (he thought that sounded like a load of rubbish, he’d experienced plenty of things). She wanted that, and he saw her eyes twinkle with all the grand ideas of fighting evil, beating bad guys, and the like.

 

But working with  _just her_ , in the lab, he loved that. The whole day was science and banter and discovery. She was the end of all his sentences, and she was the only one who ever laughed at any of his jokes. And she always smelled like apples.

 

He never imagined what he’d do if she just… wasn’t there anymore. Wasn’t there to make up for the things he lacked. Wasn’t there to force him to look on the bright side, force him to keep going. Wasn’t there to smile or laugh or wake him up.

 

While she sat on the other side of that glass door, eyes sunken and spirit lost, he realized that she was his everything.

 

And they argued and all he wanted to do was touch her, make her understand how much she actually meant to him because he’d never told her, never let her know.

 

And then his everything dropped out of the sky.

 

He yelled, screamed, shouted for her to stop. His fingers gripped the vaccine (no, anti-serum) so tight they turned white as he slammed his fist into the door-open button and ran out. Harsh wind surrounded him as he went to grab for equipment.

 

He couldn’t get the straps, the  _fucking_ straps on, fumbling, unpracticed, and he had to move, had to save her -

 

And then Grant appeared and in a second he was out.

 

He didn’t think he breathed again until Skye shouted, “They’re back, he got her, they’re okay!”

 

“You’re the hero.” She promises him later, when they’re sitting in his tiny room together.

 

But he wasn’t, not really.  _He_ didn't save her. She’s the one thing that comes before everything else in his life, and if not for Agent Ward, she’d be gone.

 

It’s just the two of them and the silence, and he holds his pillow to stop his hands from holding her (‘cause in the back of his mind, he’s not sure if he’d be able to let go).

 

He smiles because she does.

 

And she presses her lips to his cheek, soft and sweet.

 

And he’s not prepared for the way his pulse speeds up.

 

He watches her walk away, suddenly he feels like he’s going to throw up. Thoughts and feelings he’s not really for wash over him, and he hugs his pillow to his chest. And like the coward he is, he pushes them away.

 

Because they’re messy. The clean, geometric definition of her, the way he needs to see her - as a colleague, as a partner - they make sense.

 

But these? These new feelings that make him want to trace the slope of her neck with his lips, they make him dizzy. Disoriented.

 

So he settles for feeling relieved. Relieved that she’s alive and he’s got another day.

 


End file.
